Fast Car

The sun blazed overhead.

We stood facing each other, my face starting to get pink, breath starting to get ragged. My thoughts, a mile a minute.

He always knew how to get on my nerves.

My baby cousin - We were 10 years apart, I’d give him piggy back rides when we were little. We grew up close, I saw myself as his guardian angel an older sister. Him, a textbook rebellious teenager, always getting in trouble. Yet, he’d always confide in me. As the years went by, the things he did grew the fault line between us further and further, and yet - he was my baby brother. I had to protect, guard, prevent.

The car had broken down yet again. A beat up Ford Mustang. I had lent him money again this month.. and he spent it. Again. On that damn car. I was sick of it.

”I’m sick of it!” I gritted out. I look down at my nails, not wanting to make eye contact. I was so angry. “I know you got this stupid piece of junk coz you wanted to fit in with the ‘cool kids’ anyway.” I said.

He scoffed. “So? That makes me a bad person?!” He spat out. “I love it now! I really do.” He looked up at the sun, squinting. “In fact, I uh.. I don’t think I can live without it” He adds.

I look away, feeling the blood rush to my face. “It’s burning a hole in your pocket!” I say. “It’s never done you any good.” I blink. I look away, before adding “We don’t even see each other as much anymore. You spend so much of time on that thing”.

I’d visit him on weekends, seeing him hunched away for hours fiddling with the metallic innards of that odd beast of a car. They’d take them out to race on Saturdays.

“Well” I straighten, determined. “I will NOT be helping you take it to maintenance again. I’m DONE.” I say. He’ll call me - blackout drunk - in the middle of the week, having me take the dang thing into the shop before Saturday’s race. I’d drive it over - unaware of the strangely magnetic power it possessed on him. The interiors were musty - bottles of JD and beer cans littering the floors. He never paid me back either. And it was such a frequent occurrence.’

”You don’t have a credit rating anymore - yours is a joke. You haven’t held on to your job in months. You put all your energy and money into… this.” I say despondent.

I look at my shoes. “It’s consuming you.”

“Well? Good” he says with a laugh that lacked humor. “It’s the only thing that makes me happy anyway. You know.. since the discharge” He says.

I sigh. He was honorably discharged from the army after a serious injury that had him in the hospital for months. When he got out, he decided that he wanted to continue numbing the pain. Just with a new identity, a sports car and the devil’s juice rather than hospital issues morphine. Well - they’re both the devil’s juice based on how you choose to use them, I think bitterly.

“There’s other ways to be happy, kid”. I say, softer. “Spend time with the ones who love you. Come to dinner. Grandma’s really been wanting to see you. You spend all your weekends with that.. thing, when you could ease your mind with us. We want to see you happy. We’re all worried about you. You’re too young to destroy yourself like this.”

”You’ll never understand” he said, sharply. “Sometimes? I don’t want to think. I don’t want to ease my mind.. I don’t want to FEEL my mind at all? Okay? Jeez, get off my back will ya?”. He’s yelling now. I flinch. “You think you’re the perfectttt big sister! Great grades! Never messed up! Is going to help the idiot baby brother back on track. Well, screw you! I’ve never felt more alone in my life. I feel community with my fellow racers. I like feeling nothing. I like the feeling of being consumed by something. I feel my mind go quiet when I work on my car.” He says.

I feel my eyes burn. “Well, the car is not the only thing you’re working on” I say through tears, my mind flashing to the dozens of empty bottles in his car. “And I enabled this! I’ve taken your car to the shop! I give you money every month. For what?! For you to dig yourself further in your hole? This isn’t ‘being consumed’ kid. It’s wasting away.”

”What’re you saying? That you aren’t on my side either? That’s fine. You’re no different from the rest of them” he says, shaking his head. “But you know what? It’s for the best. I’m probably not capable of lovin’ any of ya’ll anyway. I’m too broken. Far too gone. But she loves me back” he says, pointing at the car, and its .. contents.

“She’s a cruel mistress” I say, now fully in tears. “Many men have lost their way. You can love her, but she’ll never love you back. She’ll take, and take, and take.. until there’s nothing left of you”, I say, looking fully to the ground.

I look into the distance, resolute. I think about what my aunt said - something about helping those who didn’t want to be helped.

I couldn’t do this anymore.

I was already so intertwined in the darkness of it all. I had to pull away before it consumed me.

Sometimes, I did wonder what it felt like, if it could really make one dissociate.. relax .. float. The thought never lasted long. I wanted to be of the world - to experience the myriad joys and disappointments, love and be loved.

I pulled him into a hug before he got back in the car. “I love you” I said. He smiled, and saluted to me.

I watched him pull away and drive into the sunlit streets.

Seeing him get further, and further and further …